


It's Not About You

by oneifby (orphan_account)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/oneifby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gendry meets Jon Snow and they become instant friends. Of course, this means that he meets Jon's little sister Arya as well. But he doesn't see her as a woman... yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not About You

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was: i want a modern AU where gendry realizes arya's not a little girl anymore BASED ON THAT EXACT DRESS  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> All I can say to explain myself is that now I am _dying_ for a photo shoot of Joe Dempsie in a bright red convertible. 

The day Gendry met Jon was the day his life changed forever, though he didn’t know it yet. Gendry had just arrived in the city. He didn’t know which one, nor did he care. Each city was the same, whether it was hot or cold, thriving or destitute. He’d been traveling since his alcoholic mother had kicked him out at fourteen. “And thank the gods for that,” he thought, “whichever one may be up there. They’ve got a sense of humor at least.” He had learned better and more on the road than he would have at home, or in school. His mother had taught him how to take a punch, and her men made him learn how to hit back, but the road had shown him how to make his way in the world. And how to find his way to the nearest bar. Which was how he met Jon.

Gendry usually tried to avoid biker bars (men eager to prove their manliness) and college hangouts (men eager to prove their manliness to co-eds). Riverrun didn’t seem like either of them, judging from the old carved sign out front, the doors that needed oiling, and the lack of both motorcycles and Priuses out front. Gendry pulled his jacket tighter around himself and braced himself as he walked through the weathered doors. He surveyed the room. Mostly men, some women, tired and well-worn from years of hard labor.

But one group stood out. A blonde boy (Gendry could hardly call him a man) sat in a booth, surrounded by other men who pretended to listen to him while playing with their beers. When he turned towards them, gesturing wildly, the men would feign interest until the boy shifted his attention. Gendry snorted quietly, and sat down at the bar. The bartender didn’t look up until Gendry laid his money out quietly. Then the man put down the glass he was wiping.

“Just whatever you’ve got on tap,” he muttered. The man grunted and slid him a pint. Gendry nodded his thanks, and took a long draught. Behind him the low rumbles of conversations became noise. Gendry ignored it. Then a glass broke. One voice rose above the din.

“You fucking idiot,” it screeched. “Look what you’ve done now! No, no, don’t touch me, you’ve done enough.” The blonde boy appeared at Gendry’s side. “Get someone to fix that mess,” he told the bartender. “Not like anyone would realize it anyway, this floor is disgusting.” This brought Gendry’s head up, expecting to see a tongue-lashing, or dismissal at the least. Instead the man nodded nervously and rushed to the back room. Gendry chuckled, and took another sip. But this didn’t escape the attention of the blonde, who had turned at the sound, a sour look on his face. “Is something funny, _boy_ ,” he sneered.

Gendry stretched slowly, and turned. “Guess it has been a while since I’ve gotten in a fight,” he thought. “Wouldn’t want to get rusty.” Out loud, he said, “Guess I’ve just never seen a grown man go running at the words of a child.”

The blonde boy bristled. “You are speaking to Joffrey _Baratheon_ , you chav,” he hissed.

“Right...” Gendry let the word trail off and turned back to his beer. “Boy knows his last name,” he remarked, to no one in particular. "Smarter than I thought."

There was a sharp intake of breath. The men who had been sitting with Lannister stood up and narrowed their eyes. “Five on one,” Gendry thought. “I’ve seen worse.” He finished his beer and stepped off the stool, all eyes in the bar on him. The bartender had returned with mop in hand, but was staring at Gendry and Joffrey.

Gendry saluted to him. “In respect to this fine establishm’nt, I think we should take this outside,” he proposed. “I don’t wanna get your lordship’s blood all over this table.”

“Fine,” said Joffrey huffily. Gendry watched him stalk towards the back door and sighed. He dropped a few pounds on the bar and began to follow the boy and his men outside.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to help you beat up the little snot,” said a black haired man, about the same height as himself.

Gendry had learned long ago that he couldn’t afford to be proud. “And you’re welcome to it,” he said, dryly. “I’d guess the boy’s got his share of enemies. The name’s Gendry Waters. If we’re to be spilling blood together, I’d better know who I’m fighting with.”

“Jon,” the man replied, pulling off his thick jacket. “Jon Snow.”

“Ahh, a man without a family. Just like myself.”

Jon grinned. “Wouldn’t want to fight beside anyone else.” Gendry clapped him on the back and they walked out into the cold together.

The first thing they noticed was Joffrey, standing a ways back.

“Hey now,” said Gendry. “My fight’s not with you wankers.”

Joffrey smiled cruelly. “If you get past them, you deserve a battle.”

Jon fell back into a fighting stance. Gendry hadn’t been trained like the man beside him, but he’d been in enough fights to know what to aim for and what to protect. “Well then,” he said smoothly, and struck the man closest to him in the eyes. His low stance and heavy stature prevented him from blocking Gendry’s fingers in his sockets. The man let out a cry of pain. As the others started towards them, Jon kicked the legs out from underneath a quick, lithe man, causing him to slip on the icy ground. Jon grabbed his arms and twisted them past where arms were supposed to go. A crack echoed in the frosty night and there was another scream. The other three had Gendry on the ground.

They hit him in the face, over and over again. One kicked him in the side and Gendry let out a moan of pain. Jon went for that man first, bashing him in the back of the head with a rock he’d found on the ground. He fell and didn’t rise. The other two turned to look, giving Gendry a chance to struggle to his feet. One fought Jon. Gendry hit the other with a right hook to the jaw as soon as the man remembered they’d left Gendry on the ground.

“The - face - is - replaceable,” Jon muttered, struggling with his attacker. “The ribs and heart? Not so much.” Joffrey began to edge away, his face filled with fear. Gendry saw this, kneed his opponent in the crotch with all of his strength and turned to the boy.

“Oh no, no, no,” he said, approaching Joffrey. “You wanted a fight? You’re getting one.” He pulled his arm back and swung at Joffrey’s face. It landed with a satisfying thump, having split Joffrey’s lip and knocked out a tooth. Gendry prepared to hit the boy again, but Joffrey fell to the ground, whimpering.

“Uncle, uncle,” he cried, holding his hands up in surrender.

Gendry looked at Jon, who was holding the last attacker by the scruff of his neck. He stared down at the Lannister boy with disgust and threw his captive to the wall.

“Not worth it,” Jon spit through his teeth. Gendry shrugged, and followed him back into the bar, stopping to check Jon’s first victim for a pulse. When he found it, he nodded to Jon. They glanced back as they went through the door. Joffrey’s men were trying to coax him out of the fetal position.

The men inside the bar shared nervous smiles when they saw who was coming back inside. Even so, Gendry knew better than to stick around. He grabbed his jacket and stepped up to the bar, leaning in so he could speak quietly.

“Mate, any cameras out back?”

The bartender laughed scornfully. “Kinda fool d’ya take me for?”

Gendry grinned. “Good man.” He whistled to Jon, who’d been checking himself in a mirror on the wall. Gendry walked over and examined his brother-in-arms. “Not a scratch on that pretty face of yours.” He shook his head. “Don’t know how you did it, but the ladies will continue to love you.”

Jon grimaced at Gendry’s facial wounds. “Can’t say the same about yours. You got a place to stay tonight?”

Gendry shrugged, then winced at the pain from his lower torso. His face was guarded, looking at Jon.

“We’ll go to my family’s house,” Jon said. “It’s close, and we’ll be safe there.”

“Fine,” Gendry agreed, ignoring the ‘safe’ comment. “But I drive.”

Jon followed him out through the front door. After a few minutes walking, Gendry stepped down off the curb and around to the driver’s door of a sports car, glistening red even in the darkness.

“Wow,” Jon said. His mouth fell open and he stepped back to admire the car. “Is that--”

“A ‘71 Fiat Dino Spider,” Gendry finished. Jon had paid his respects to the beast, and in doing so discovered the key to Gendry’s heart. “You like?”

Jon ran his hand along the hood reverently. “2.4 liter engine, 180 horsepower,” he responded, “Aston Martin gearbox, 0-60 in less than eight seconds.”

Gendry unlocked the doors and the men climbed in. He ran his hands over the steering wheel fondly. “I call it the Bull,” he said. “Found this baby in a junkyard, you believe that? Who’d be so cruel to a beauty like this? Built it back up with my own two hands.”

Jon inhaled deeply. “That’s some bloody talent.” He spoke with street slang, echoing Gendry’s words, but it was almost like “he was puttin’ it on”, Gendry thought. His words may have been from the streets, but his accent was crisp. Gendry tabled that for later. He put the key in the ignition and the engine roared. “Like angels’ song,” Jon said reverently. Gendry grinned and pulled out of the spot, accelerating past the bar and into the dark streets.

Jon directed him through turns and twists. The neighborhood started to get nicer, the houses spread farther apart. The windows lost their bars and the lawns went from dead grass to polished flowerbeds.

The Bull pulled up across the street from the house. Gendry parked meters away from the closest bumper and turned off the car. Jon let out a sigh.

“Before we go in,” he said, “you should know a few things.”

Gendry put his elbow against his window and leaned his head against his fist.

“First, yes, I grew up here. But I don’t live here anymore. I haven’t for a while. Second, I don’t have the money this house would suggest. Or any house would suggest.” At this, Gendry looked up at Jon, but the man’s face remained blank as he continued. “I don’t have any money, in fact.”

“Great, neither do I,” Gendry responded.

“And finally, I’m not exactly welcome here. It’s not illegal or anything, and you won’t get in any trouble. We just have to try not to make any noise, and we’ve got to take off early.” Gendry nodded solemnly, opened his door, and stepped out of the car, Jon a half beat behind him.

The house gave the impression that it not only hid hundreds of acres of backyard, but that those acres were filled with serfs tilling the land. They grew potatoes, grain. Maybe some turnips. Gendry rubbed the back of his neck as he gazed up at the top of the house. It was impossible to see. The dark blue paint disappeared into the night sky.

“So when man first walked on the moon,” Gendry said slowly as Jon turned to face him.

“Uh-huh,” Jon prompted.

“Did they launch the rocket ship from the roof of this house so that it would only have to travel half the distance as it would have if they had launched it from the earth?”

“Wait till you see it in daylight,” Jon said glumly. “It looks even more massive.” He unlocked the latch on the metal gate and held it open for Gendry. The men walked along a cobblestone path--past the initial line of small poplars meant to shield the house from eyes on the street, the expanse of grass, and the elaborate flower garden. Jon stepped up onto the porch, so white it seemed to glow in the dark. Gendry followed him up the steps. As Jon pawed through his pockets for his keys, a breeze caused the porch swing all the way at the corner of the house to creak. He pulled them out and tried each key in the lock.

They stood in the darkness, Jon blindly fumbling at the door, when a bright light suddenly blinded them.

 

Arya woke up to scratching at the door. She was the light sleeper--her mother was all the way on the third floor, the little ones had taken Robb’s old room, and Sansa, despite her ladylike tendencies, was a snorer and could sleep through a rock concert. Because of Arya’s insomnia, her parents had built a room for her on the first floor, so she could walk around and turn on the lights without waking anyone else up. For a moment, she thought it was one of the dogs, or her cat trying to be let in before realizing that the dogs were all asleep inside and the cat had the flap at the back. When her father had installed it, he had smiled, and brushed his hands off briskly. “There,” he grinned. “Now she can come and go as she pleases.” “Lucky cat,” Arya had muttered.

She slipped out from under the sheets and walked to the front door, careful to walk toe-heel. When she did that, she hardly made any noise, she’d found, and hell if she was going to let burglars know that she was coming. She listened to the sounds outside for a moment, grabbed an umbrella out of the stand, and flipped the porch light.

“AUUUUUGHHH,” said the men outside in unison.

“Arya,” Jon said, “fucking shit, could you turn that off?”

“Jon?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” he replied.

She turned off the light and opened the door quietly. Jon stood there blinking his eyes. Beside him stood a man about his height, but much bigger. His clothes were well worn, and at places, barely fit his muscled frame, but his dark leather jacket was too large for him. Even through his black eye, she could see his long eyelashes. When he smiled, his split lip began to bleed again, matching the blood on his threadbare t-shirt. He looked at Arya sheepishly, and ran his hand through his straight black hair.

She forgot how to breathe for a second.

“Seven hells,” Jon said, “are you going to let us in, or are we going to freeze out here? It’s not getting any warmer!”

She stood to the side and let them in, swallowing deeply as she did so. Jon took off his shoes, leaving them by the door, and the man behind him followed his lead carefully.

“Introductions,” Jon proclaimed in a loud whisper. “Gendry, Arya. Arya, Gendry.”

Gendry stuck out his hand to Arya. She took it with some surprise. Sparks shot through her at the touch, although Gendry shook roughly.

“Pleasure,” he said, grinning at her. She just nodded back. “Let’s continue this in the kitchen, huh,” Jon interrupted (rudely, Arya thought). “I’m starving.”

Arya moved aside and the men moved past her, slipping quietly through the house. Jon flipped the lights and began rummaging through the cupboards. Gendry looked around the room, and sat down next to Arya, taking the food Jon handed him. She was suddenly very aware that she was in a ratty old t-shirt and a pair of Jon’s boxers, her mouse-brown hair hanging limply around her face. She tugged the shirt hem down self-consciously and crossed one leg back behind the other.

Gendry stopped slathering peanut butter on his bread. “Arya,” he said, sending a thrill straight through her. His next words crushed her heart. “Isn’t that a girl’s name?”

“Yes,” she said angrily. “Because _I’m a girl_ , you asshole.”

Gendry’s face froze as he looked into her eyes. He fumbled, “Um, I, I mean-”

“You don’t have to worry about Arya,” Jon laughed. “She’s cool. Of anyone, she’s the one I’d want to have my back in a barfight. One of us, basically. Sometimes Robb and I used to call her Arry.”

“I’m still sorry,” Gendry mumbled, looking at Arya apologetically. “It’s dark, and I had a bit to drink.”

“It’s fine,” she said stoically. “It’s the short hair.” She turned to Jon, purposefully ignoring Gendry. “You can sleep here, but you should be gone before my mom wakes up.”

Jon’s face turned to steel. “Fine,” he responded, and grabbed his sandwich, motioning to Gendry to follow.

Arya watched them disappear into the dark of the back rooms before sighing and turning off all the lights. She saw better without them anyway.

“I thought she was your sister,” Gendry whispered to Jon.

“Half-sister,” Jon replied automatically. “Come on, I’m tired. I’ll tell you about it in the morning. Do you have an alarm on your phone?”

Gendry shifted. “I, um, I don’t have a phone,” he said apologetically.

“It’s not a problem,” Jon replied. “I’ve got mine. But I hope you’re a light sleeper because this shit never wakes me up.”

He opened a door and flipped the light. The room was sparse, but tastefully decorated. The walls were papered with navy and white vertical stripes. Jon threw his jacket on one of the two beds, and sat on the baby blue duvet. He took his wallet and phone out of his jeans and placed them on the bedside table.

Gendry stripped off his shirt and checked himself out in the mirror. A large purple bruise was spreading up the left side of his torso. He prodded it experimentally and winced.

Jon looked up. “Broken?”

“Nah, just bruised,” Gendry said. “It’ll be fine.”

“You should disinfect your face anyway,” Jon observed. “There’s antiseptic in the loo.”

Gendry opened the door to the side room and cleaned his cuts.

When he returned, Jon had turned on the bedside lamp and hit the main light switch. It gave the room a comforting glow. Gendry thumbed open his jeans, sliding them off, and climbed into his bed. Jon finished setting the alarm and pulled back the covers. They fell asleep almost immediately.

 

The alarm went off at six, jolting Gendry awake. Jon continued to snore blissfully. “He wasn’t kidding,” Gendry thought. “Dunno how he wakes up normally.” He put on his clothes and went to shake Jon awake.

“Mate. Mate, get up,” Gendry said quietly. “We’ve got to go.”

It took Jon a minute to figure out where he was and why. Groggily he pulled back the covers and rolled out of bed. The men tiptoed out of the house and grabbed their shoes from outside the front door.

“Can we get a coffee,” Jon asked once they were safely inside the car. “I refuse to interact with humanity until I’ve had my morning pot.”

“Anywhere in particular?” Gendry turned another corner. The streets were dark and empty--his favorite time of day.

“I would recommend a hospital because we could probably convince them to give us an IV of the stuff–especially after a look at your face–, but let’s just go to the diner.” Jon rattled off directions, then slumped back into his seat, head against the window. “Wake me when we get there.”

Fifteen minutes later, Gendry jostled Jon. “This the place?”

Jon peered out the window. The neon sign advertising ‘Martell’s’ blinked red in the darkness. “Thank the gods.” He scrambled out of the car as quickly as he could. Gendry locked the doors carefully and looked around. The sooner he could find his way around the city by himself, the better. And it never hurt to get a good breakfast spot locked down.

Jon was already in a booth when Gendry strolled in. “Over here,” he called. For the early hour, the place was bloody packed, Gendry thought. Girls in school uniforms sat at the countertop with stacks of bacon in front of them. Businessmen and women in tailor suits ate their way through stacks of pancakes while devouring the paper. Men with bulges underneath their jackets (which suspiciously resembled Glock 19s) polished off granola.

As Gendry slid into his seat across from Jon, a tall, dark-skinned girl materialized at their table and whipped out her notepad.

“Nymeria,” Jon cried. “Goddess divine, queen of my heart.” Nymeria raised an expertly plucked eyebrow, but a smile played over her lips.

“I’ll get the big mugs,” she replied.

“Bless you,” he said reverently.

The beauty turned to Gendry, who found himself under evaluation. He shifted uncomfortably under her appraising stare.

“I, uh, haven’t decided yet,” he mumbled, scrambling for a menu.

“What’s your name?” Nymeria asked.

“Gendry,” he said. “Gendry Waters.”

She leaned in over the table. “Nymeria,” she replied. “Lady Nym to the Snow boy.” Jon grinned. She looked Gendry over one more time. “You don’t order,” she told him. “Your food will be ready in ten.”

“But--”

Jon put a hand up to stop his friend. “That’s great, Nym, thanks,” he said. As she left, he whispered to Gendry, “She and her sisters don’t take people’s orders. They give you what you want. And it is always exactly what you want. Even if you didn’t know it.”

Gendry shrugged. “As long as I get some sort of food, I’ll be alright.”

Nym dropped two soup bowls on the table and place the red pot next to them. Jon poured his coffee and drained most of the bowl as she watched. He closed his eyes in ecstasy.

“Whenever I’m not actually drinking this stuff, I think I’ve imagined it, that it can’t possibly this good. And every time you amaze me.”

This won a smile from Nymeria. She strode away, satisfied.

“Okay,” Jon said, setting down his bowl. “The Stark family.”

Gendry waited for him to collect his thoughts.

“The house we were at last night is called Winterfell. That where the Starks live. Where they’ve always lived. And where I lived. My dad’s name was Ned Stark. My mum... well, I never knew my mum.” He shrugged. “Dad met her on a business trip just after he’d married Catelyn and gotten her pregnant with Robb. He’s my oldest brother. Half-brother. So obviously, Dad’s wife hated me. I get it, I mean, her new husband brought home a reminder of his affair instead of like, a necklace or something. Not the most diplomatic move. Robb and I have always been close though. We grew up together. It goes him, me, then my sister Sansa, Arya, who you met, my brother Bran, and Rickon. He’s the baby.” Jon paused. “He was a great dad. He really loved us all. I remember once he went out and got six puppies, one for each of us, because Bran mentioned he’d like a dog. Catelyn threatened to give them to the pound.”

Jon took a sip, collecting himself. Gendry pretended not to see his watering eyes.

“Anyway,” Jon continued, clearing his throat, “the Starks own North Systems.”

This Gendry recognized. “The computer company?”

Jon nodded. “It’s been in the family for generations, but it only just became computers. That was Dad. All of his employees loved him and the company was profitable. He was, uh, coming home one night after, after work when... Well, they found his, his body, frozen, the next morning.” Jon’s voice turned bitter. “The police said it was a mugging. I think that’s bullshit. But it doesn’t matter now. As soon as he was cold in the ground, Catelyn kicked me out of the house. Robb had to leave and take over North, and Arya was too young to do anything, so I was on my own, basically. Dad had left me some money. Enough to get an apartment and cover my entrance fees to the academy.”

At this, Gendry looked up. “Police academy? You’re a cop?”

Jon nodded sheepishly. “My uncle was, and he’d always been good to me. We call the station here the Wall, actually, because it’s right between the upper class and rough parts of town. I usually take the night shifts. That’s why I was Riverrun last night--I’d just finished.”

“There.” Nymeria appeared at the table and dropped a heaping stack of french toast, soaked in syrup and covered with coconut, in front of Gendry. She folded her arms and waited. He hesitantly took a bite, looking up at her. His face melted.

“Good _gods_ ,” he finally managed, opening his eyes and staring at Nymeria in disbelief. “Can I call you Lady Nym too? It’s like eating sweet, syrupy gold. Jon, you’ve got to try this.”

Nymeria beamed down at him before spinning on her heel and heading to another table.

“Is she like a fairy godmother or something? No wonder this place is so full,” Gendry said, talking around the food in his mouth. “I want to live here. Make babies with this french toast.”

“Shit. We’ve got to get you a place.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Gendry said, chewing. “I’m good at moving.”

 

By the afternoon, he’d found an apartment, got the landlady to knock a hundred pounds off the monthly rent, and convinced a local bodyshop to let him park the Bull in their locked garage every night. They even made him a key while he waited.

“You can probably find a job downtown,” Jon had told him. “Just look around. Maybe try to cover up your eye.”

Gendry had changed his clothes to something a bit more presentable, but drew the line at makeup. His bruised face drew more than a few glances as he strolled down the streets, hands in his pockets. A couple of stores had ‘HELP WANTED’ signs, but he wasn’t interested in standing behind a desk while middle-aged women came in to flirt and slobber all over him.

He passed a large window before doubling back. Something about the place caught his eye. He peered through, looking around the restaurant. When he didn’t see anyone inside, he sighed and kept walking.

In the alley next to the restaurant, he spotted a tall, broad shouldered man emptying food scraps and trash into piles and dumpsters.

“Mate,” Gendry called. “D’you know if they’re hiring at the restaurant?”

Broad shoulders turned around to reveal a round face and long eyelashes. She wiped her hands on her half apron. The woman was not soft, nor beautiful, but she was clearly female. Gendry blanched.

“Beg pardon, miss,” he apologized.

She inspected him carefully. “Come here, boy.”

He obeyed. The woman looked him up and down before taking his face in her hand, turning it back and forth. “What’s your name, boy,” she finally asked.

“Gendry, ma’am.” He had to look up to speak to her. She was a head taller than he.

“I suspect you have a love of food, Gendry,” the woman remarked. “You’ve got the frame for it. Am I correct?"

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded.

“And that you are, I suspect, an excellent chef. Anyone who’s grown up with crap parents knows their way around a kitchen.” Gendry shrugged. “No, no false modesty here,” she scolded. “Yes or no?”

“Yes ma’am,” Gendry replied, looking her straight in the eye.

“Good, very good,” she said, smiling broadly. “I am Brienne. In my kitchen, you will address me as Chef. Outside, you can call me Brienne. We’ve got an arse of an owner, but you are my hire and will be treated as such. He tortures you, you come to me. I will teach you all I know. If you listen.” Gendry nodded solemnly.

Brienne looked at him again, brushed off her hands, and opened the back door. “Well, come along then,” she commanded.

 

The group fell into a rhythm after a while. The weeks, and then the months, passed. Gendry gets off work, picks up Arya, and they go to see Jon. Jon and Arya were already close, and so alike. They have the same taste in movies, and books. It makes sense that they’d both want to hang out with Gendry. But that’s not what Arya tells herself. She’s going to hang out with Jon, she says. Like before. It’s nothing different.

She hero-worships Jon and Robb anyways, so it’s not weird that she’s crazy about Gendry. It’s not, she tells herself again and again, until she almost believes it. It’s just a different kind of love. A life-consuming, personality-changing kind. And after a while, she can make it seem like it's not a HUGE deal. Like her heart doesn't start beating faster around him. She figures out how to hide the fact that her palms begin to sweat. It takes a few months (maybe more than a few), but Arya’s always been patient. She forgets that it's out of the ordinary, loving him as she does. Gendry’s just... _there_. And she can’t remember what it was like before she had his large, comfortable presence in her life.

 

“JONNN,” Arya yelled. “THE DOOR.” No response. She sighed and stood.

A woman with curling red hair and a large fur coat stood at the door.

“Looking for Jon Snow,” she said hopefully. “Is he here?”

“May I ask who’s calling?” Arya asked.

The woman grinned wickedly. “Tell him it’s the Wilding girl.”

Arya stomped upstairs and yanked Jon’s door open.

He pulled off his headphones. “ _What_ , Arya?!”

“A woman is here for you. She said she’s ‘the Wilding girl’?”

Jon turned bright red. “ _Fuck_ , fuck, fuck,” he muttered. “Goddamn it, shit.” Arya followed him down the stairs and to the front door, standing just behind him.

“Jon Snow,” the woman says, smiling.

“Ygritte, what are you doing here,” Jon mumbled.

“I happened to find another one of those watches you were looking for.” Ygritte put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a case.

“Happened to find,” Jon said skeptically. “Don’t you mean took from one of your brothers?”

“It’s a fun little game we play,” Ygritte grinned. “They hide things, then I find them and bring them to cute young police officers.” Jon’s cheeks turned an even darker red.

Arya reached around him and extended her hand. “I’m Arya, Jon’s sister. I don’t think we had the pleasure earlier.”

“Charmed,” Ygritte laughed. “Maybe you can pull the stick out of your brother’s butt and convince him that I’m not an evil seductress. Well, at least not evil.”

“I’ll do my best,” Arya replied.

Jon came to his senses and began to close the door. “Well, Ygritte, pleasure to see you.”

Ygritte smiled and turned. “Until tomorrow, Jon Snow.”

Arya looked at the door, then back to Jon. “Why the _hell_ are you in here with me when that hot ginger clearly wants to jump your bones?”

Jon flushed again, as red as Ygritte’s hair. “She’s part of the Wildling family. She’s a criminal. Plus I told Uncle that I wouldn’t date while I was in training. It distracts from the ultimate goal--keeping the streets safe.”

“Yeah, like the other guys at the academy aren’t going out to a different bar every night, flashing their credentials and bragging their bollocks off to get every tramp with a weakness for tequila back to their bunks. Get real.”

“Arya!” Jon exclaimed, appalled. “You shouldn’t even know about what the guys,” he coughed, ” _may or may not_ be doing.”

“Jon, I’m almost eighteen. I could be _working_ in one of the brothels that the less charming recruits frequent. Of course I know that they’re sleeping with people. Some of them have even hit on me once or twice.”

Jon whipped his head around, embarrassment turned to anger. “ _Who_ ,” he snapped furiously. “I’ll kill every last one of them.”

“Jon, it’s not a big deal! Like I don’t know how to handle a couple of sleazy blokes? I can take care of myself. Besides, I’m not a little girl anymore.”

He sighed. “If Robb and I had our way, you’d be eleven forever, pulling Sansa’s pigtails and shooting arrows in the yard with Bran.”

Arya snorted. “If wishes were horses, we’d all be Dothraki.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I’ve got to go, I promised Rickon I’d practice football with him.”

Jon smiled. “He’s still on that?”

“He’s gonna go pro someday, I swear it. That boy has determination like no other.”

Jon kissed his little sister delicately on the forehead. “Stay safe, Arya.”

 

Gendry arrived at Jon’s apartment an hour before they were supposed to be at the concert. He parked the Bull a few blocks away, hidden enough that people wouldn’t see it if they were just walking through. When his knock got no reply, he banged on the door. “Oy,” he shouted. The door swung open.

A striking girl with long red hair stood in the doorway, a dour look on her elegant face.

“I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t knock down our door, thanks,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

Gendry took a step back. “Uh, do I have the wrong apartment?” He checked the number above the door.

“Probably not, unfortunately,” she sighed. “Jon Snow?” Gendry nodded. “Then, by all means, _entrer s'il vous plaît_.”

Jon came out of his bedroom, running his hand through his hair. “Thanks, Sansa.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did you get the beads?”

“In the bag in the kitchen,” he told her.

Gendry looked Jon up and down. “Where were you, blow-drying your hair?”

Jon ignored the question.

“That means yes,” Sansa remarked sourly.

“Gendry, this is my sister Sansa. Sansa, this is the guy who punched Joffrey in the face.”

Sansa’s face lit up. “Of course, Gendry,” she cried. “You are always welcome in our home. Or Jon’s home, whatever.” She smiled sweetly at him and exited the room, waving dramatically.

“So I meet another elusive Stark,” Gendry said. Jon exhaled.

“She’s at uni,” he explained, “but she’s home to revise for her exams. She’s using my place to study--it’s hard for her to get work done at home because something is always crashing or someone’s yelling. Winterfell is never boring, I can say that for them. But she’s in a bit of a mood right now.”

“What’s the deal with the beads?”

Jon looked at him blankly for a moment before figuring out what he was talking about. “Oh, Sansa’s? She’s making a dress for her big party. It’s like a debutante party/coming of age/21st birthday/graduating from college thing. I went and picked them up for her on my way back from work.”

“21st,” Gendry remarked, crashing down onto the sofa. “Isn’t that early to be graduating? Not that I would know, of course.” “

She’s really smart. Like, _really_ smart,” Jon emphasized. “She skipped a couple of grades when we were little, so she was a total goody two shoes and never went to any high school parties or whatever. Catelyn wanted to have her coming out party when she was eighteen, but she insisted that it wait until she was done with school.”

“What does she want to do?” Jon shrugged. “Never asked. I think she’s just staying with the family for a while until she figures that out. She’s got time. She’ll probably go into academia--all her professors love her, so she’s always got that option.”

“Hmm. Lucky girl. My school career was a bit shorter,” Gendry said.

“She’s always done everything the family expected of her. Our parents even thought Joffrey Baratheon might make a good marriage for her someday, and of course Sansa fell for him immediately.”

Gendry stopped playing with the cushion fringe. “That snot-nosed little blonde boy from the bar?”

“Yeah,” Jon confirmed. Gendry snorted. “He’s a real arse, as you know. But Sansa didn’t realize that until Dad was killed and he tried to force her to have sex with him that night.”

Gendry cracked his knuckles. “We should have broken that pretty face.”

“Robb and I did a good amount of damage, don’t you worry.” Jon stared at the ceiling. “It was so fucked up. At least he showed us what a scumbag he really was before they could get too far.”

“Still.”

“The house was filled with pastries for weeks. Croissants, breads, muffins. Sansa bakes when she’s stressed.”

Gendry looked over curiously. “Is she any good?”

“She’s too good,” Jon replied. “We had to start packing them up and giving them away to people on the street because we were all gaining so much weight.”

“We could use a pastry chef.”

“Good luck with that, she’d laugh in your face,” Jon said.

Gendry chuckled. “True. Well, I’ll just have to try her stuff sometime.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Gendry cleared his throat. “We should probably get going.”

Jon stood up and pulled on his jacket.

“This concert is gonna be ace.”

“I know, bloody marvelous.”

“Sansa,” Jon called.

“ _WHAT_ ,” she yelled back.

“We’re leaving,” he shouted.

“I’LL ALERT THE MEDIA.”

Jon shook his head. “I don’t know why I bother,” he grumbled. “Let’s go.”

 

“ROOOBBBB,” Rickon cried and tumbled down the stairs.

“Rickon, please be careful,” Catelyn called anxiously, following him.

“Children, Robb’s home!” The eldest Stark child threw open the front door and dropped his bag. Rickon hurtled across the floor and slammed into his legs. Robb doubled over in mock pain.

“Umphhh,” he said, clutching his stomach. “Rickon, bud, you’re getting so big!” He swung the boy up into his arms as Rickon squealed in delight.

“Robb,” Catelyn said happily, having finally reached the door. Robb set his brother down and dutifully kissed his mother on the cheek.

“Hi Mom,” he grinned. “Surprised?”

“I thought you were in Braavos this week!”

“I sent Theon instead. They like him better anyway.” Catelyn nodded. Robb’s second-in-command had a slippery charm that fit right in with the mind games of the Braavosi. She didn’t always trust him, but she could not deny that he was extremely useful.

“Well, it’s always a pleasure to have you home, my darling.” Catelyn doted on Robb and he adored his mother. When he had taken over North Systems, he had called her every week to ask for advice or consult with her.

Sansa came down slowly, helping Bran with the stairs. Robb picked up the boy and his crutches, setting him in one of the plush parlor chairs. From anyone else Bran would have pushed them away or slapped them, but he even allowed Robb to smooth down his hair. Robb winked as he put his brother down gently. He turned, and crushed Sansa in a bear hug as she squirmed and laughed. When he finally let go, she punched him in the arm and flounced over to the sofa.

“Where are Jon and Arya?” Catelyn looked away, so Sansa answered.

“They’re getting lunch with Gendry. Well, at Gendry’s restaurant,” she corrected herself. When Robb opened his mouth to ask another question, she preempted him. “Gendry’s Jon’s new friend. He works as a chef. They met in a barfight.”

Robb laughed deeply, his whole body shaking as Ned’s used to do when something really amused him. Catelyn watched fondly.

“Sounds like a good man to know,” he said, standing and stretching. “Speaking of lunch, what’ve we got to eat?”

Catelyn brightened, and shepherded everyone into the kitchen. “We’ve got pasta, venison stew, hamburgers, a frittata, some lemon cakes...”

Robb looked at Sansa, who shrugged. “I had a lot of work this week,” she explained.

Catelyn pulled out plates and began ladling some of everything out of their containers. Robb grabbed the glasses and filled them in the sink. The front door opened and slammed closed. Arya, Gendry, and Jon entered, arguing. Robb couldn’t hear the whole conversation, but he pick out Arya ending a sentence with “defend myself” and Jon responding with “absolutely not.” When they saw Robb, however, the conversation died.

Jon let out a cry and tackled his half brother. Even though they both had been through the better part of their twenties, they rolled around on the floor like a couple of puppies, as the dogs barked madly. Robb finally pinned Jon, both men panting and wriggling around.

“Say it,” Robb commanded.

“No!” Jon tried to push his brother off, failed, and broke into laughter.

“Saaaay it,” Robb sang, grinning.

Jon gave up, going lifeless. “Robb Stark is my king.”

Robb stood up, held both arms in the air, and proclaimed his victory. “Never challenge me, puny mortal!” The Stark children cheered, Rickon running to lie on Jon’s chest. Once Jon could drag Rickon up off him, he smacked Robb roughly on the shoulder.

“Look at this,” he teased. “Mr Big Shot has come to visit us little people. What happened, your limo driver get lost?”

“Ha, ha, we’ve got a comedian in the family,” Robb grinned. “What about you? Keeping the streets safe for the likes of me yet?”

“More like from you,” Jon muttered clearly.

“I’m choosing to ignore that,” Robb remarked. “Arya Underfoot!” Arya flushed, pleased by the attention. She stepped forward for a hug and was enveloped by her brother. “I hardly recognize you. Is that mascara I see?” He stared at her, wide-eyed, as Arya hid her face in her hands.

“Robb, don’t you dare tease her,” Sansa scolded. “I barely got her to let me put it on in the first place!”

“I hate you,” Arya said, muffled.

Robb, huge smile on his face, turned to Gendry, who was standing uncomfortably in the corner.

“You must be Gendry,” he said, offering his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Gendry glanced at Jon, who nodded encouragingly, and shook. He expected Robb’s hand to be smooth and was surprised to feel a few callouses brushing against his own. Robb smiled, noting Gendry’s surprise. He leaned in and whispered, “In Ned Stark’s house, you worked for your supper.” He moved back and continued, “We were contracted to construction companies while school was out. Quite an experience. I know the major swear words in three different languages.” Gendry smiled back, reassured.

“Shit,” Jon said, checking his watch. Catelyn shot him a glare and he deliberately avoided her eyes. “I’ve got to get back. Gendry, can you give me a ride?”

“Yeah, I’ve probably got to start dinner prep soon anyways.” He turned to Robb and said gruffly, “Nice to meet you.”

Arya had raised her head when Robb spoke to Gendry, and watched anxiously as they said their goodbyes. Jon ruffled her hair affectionately, calling “Goodbye, arseface,” to Robb, and Gendry waved as they walked out of the kitchen. Robb winked at his sister and she smiled back at him.

“ _Well_ ,” Robb said. “FOOD.”

 

Sometimes Gendry just needed to walk. It was after the lunchtime rush, so Brienne had kicked everyone out of the kitchen.

“OUT, OUT,” she yelled, “I CAN’T EVEN LOOK AT YOU ANYMORE. Waters, get your _SORRY ASS_ OUT OF MY KITCHEN. If you come back here in less than an hour, so help me gods, I will be serving _you_ for dinner.”

Gendry wasn’t sure what she did when they were all gone, but the kitchen was always spotless when they came back, so no one asked. He walked down the street, hands in his pockets, whistling. His mother had always called it a ‘vulgar habit’, so he indulged in it whenever he could. It wasn’t as if he deliberately tried not to think about her. The beginning of his life just wasn’t something he needed or wanted to remember. He had no cause for it. But sometimes when he was by himself, he’d remember her teaching him to make a grilled cheese, or the best way to pick a lock.

A flash of light off silver caught Gendry’s eye and he turned. The mid-afternoon sun had bounced off a locket being twisted back and forth absentmindedly. Arya’s locket. She sat on the floor of a bookstore, surrounded by huge books, paging through one of them. She worried her locket and bit her lip. The flare flashed again.

“Arya,” he called, forgetting the glass between them. She didn’t look up, but her forehead creased as she put one book down and picked up another.

He entered the store, wincing at the ‘welcome’ bell, and waved off the shop assistants who saw his too tight tank top and practically fell over themselves trying to offer help. Arya didn’t flinch at the sudden increase in noise. Gendry stood in front of her for a minute, watching her flip through the pages of a thick volume. Then he tapped her on the shoulder gently. She looked up, startled, and blinked at the bright light coming through the window behind his head. Once her eyes refocused, her face broke out into a smile.

“What are you doing here,” she asked happily, starting to move the weight from her lap so she could stand.

“I saw Arya Underfoot from the street,” Gendry replied, “and was curious why she’d ever be in a bookstore.”

“I read,” Arya snapped, still sitting cross legged.

“Not by choice,” Gendry replied, lowering himself to the floor next to her so she wouldn’t have to squint. When he sat, they could almost see eye-to-eye.

“I just prefer the outdoors,” she retorted. “So sue me if I’d rather live my life than learn about how other people lived theirs.”

“Hey. No accusations here,” Gendry said, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m the same way. They could never get me to pay attention in class either--I was always thinking about the Bull. Thank the gods I got out when I did.”

Arya’s tensed shoulders relaxed at this and she began flipping through the pages again.

“So what’s the deal, anyway?”

“Oh, I’m trying to pick out a present for Sansa.”

“For her ball thing?”

Arya nodded. “She loves reading and she’s really into Medieval Royalty, but I can’t find one that I think she hasn’t read.”

“What have you been looking at?”

Arya stacked the books on top of each other, rattling the titles off as she went. “ _Dreamsongs: A Retrospective, R’hllor and His Followers: The Night is Dark, The Storm Kings, The Rise and Fall of the Dothraki Empire_.”

“Hoookay. I got none of that.” Gendry skimmed the names of the books on the shelves around then, and grabbed the most delicately lettered one. “How’s this?” He looked at the cover. “ _Visenya the Warrior’s Completed Words_?”

Arya grabbed the blue book and stared at the gilt lettering before meeting Gendry’s eyes. “You’re fucking brilliant, you know that? Sansa adores the stories of the Targaryens, and she’s never read their memoirs. This is absolutely perfect! You’re a godsend, you know that?”

They paid, Gendry ignoring Arya’s full wallet, and walked through the swinging glass doors.

“She’s going to love this,” Arya beamed, holding out her gift and admiring it. “I never get her the right thing, but this is perfect.” She skipped a few steps ahead before waiting for Gendry to catch up.

“You two don’t get along?”

Arya shrugged. “We don’t have a lot in common. We’re interested in... different things. And yeah, I want to kill her sometimes. But a) who doesn’t, b) she’s still my sister, and c) I love her.” She took a deep breath. “Dad always taught us that family was the most important thing. After he died, we realized what that really meant. Why would we fight when we’re so lucky to have each other?” She paused, and looked up at Gendry. “I’d do anything for Sansa. Or any of them.”

Gendry placed his hand on Arya’s shoulder. “You’re a good sister,” he said.

She smiled sheepishly, and shook her head. “I’m a Stark.”

 

Gendry hadn’t seen Jon in weeks, since he’d dropped him off at his apartment. So when Jon strode into _Cersei_ at closing time, he almost ran out of the kitchen.

“Thank the gods you’re here,” he told his friend. “I’m going stir crazy in that damn kitchen. Brienne and Jaime haven’t been speaking to each other since Brienne decided she didn’t want to put lobster in the lobster risotto anymore and Jaime decided to interview other chefs at the table right next to the kitchen. It’s been all “ _Gendry, tell Jaime that_ ” and “ _Gendry, let Brienne know_ ” for the past three days. Fuck me.”

Jon laughed. “Good thing I’m here now, then. Riverrun?”

Gendry grinned. “Give me like fifteen, I gotta clean up my station.”

He disappeared back into the kitchen. Jon looked around at the busboys wiping down the tables and clearing out chairs. He walked over to the bar and took a seat on a tall stool. It squeaked as he rotated around. The blonde man behind the bar turned at the sound.

“Jon, isn’t it,” said Jaime Lannister. It wasn’t a question. “Pleasure, I’m sure. We are, however, closing up.”

“I’m just waiting for a friend,” Jon explained quietly, not meeting Jaime’s eyes. Jaime snorted, picked up a tumbler, and popped the top off of a bottle of Glenlivet.

“What a coincidence,” he replied, pouring. “So am I.” He slid the glass across the smooth bar top. Jon caught it and looked up at Jaime hesitantly.

“Oh, come now. I didn’t poison you,” Jaime sighed. “If I was going to do that, I wouldn’t have given you the good stuff. No use wasting fine whisky.”

At this, Jon finally smiled and took a long drink. Jaime watched approvingly. “That’s it, put some hair on your chest.”

Jon set the glass down and nodded his thanks. “You’re the bartender here? Hard to imagine a Lannister performing manual labor.”

Jaime shrugged. “Sometimes. Sometimes I’m the host, or a fucking accountant. Whatever needs doing.” Jon took another sip and savored the fire in his belly. Watching him, Jaime continued, “I own the place, you see.”

Jon spluttered into his drink. Still choking, he coughed out, “You - own - the - _Cersei_?”

Jaime laughed. “Named after my belov’d sister, of course.” He poured his own drink. “I’ve got to do something valuable with my time. Can’t just woo fair maidens and go tilting at windmills all the livelong day.” He wrung out a rag and began wiping down the countertop. “No longer the bloodthirsty shark of the boardroom am I.”

“But how -”

“Did I go from there to here?” Jaime grinned crookedly and leaned onto the countertop. “After I’d ousted my brother-in-law as head of the company, I thought I’d be CEO of Westeros. So did everyone else. My father soon disabused us of that notion. He gave my dear, dear sister control (under his supervision, of course). I couldn’t play at being Cersei’s shadow man forever, always doing the dirty work of corporate espionage behind the scenes. And a law degree means nothing when you’re blacklisted at every company in town. Then I thought I’d try my hand at the restaurant business.” He stretched his back like a lazy cat. Or a lion, Jon thought. “Never underestimate the power of a capable chef. At first I had some charlatan who thought that rubs were an appropriate main course. Thank the gods for Brienne. She fired everyone in the kitchen, started her own herb garden, and introduced me to ‘ _Sous Vide of Lamb Loin_ ’. Her cooking can change a man’s heart.” He realized he had been staring dreamily at the kitchen doors and quickly turned back to the bar. “If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll kill you.” Jon nodded, a smile playing on his lips. He watched the other man curiously.

Gendry strolled out through the swinging doors, talking to Brienne. The busboys and other chefs had left, and turned out most of the lights as they did so. The only place still lit up was the bar. Jaime and Jon were backlit, as though fixed in a spotlight for a play.

“The sauce is too heavy,” Brienne argued. “It drowns the flavor.”

“It all falls off on the plate anyway,” Gendry tried. “It doesn’t stick to the steak. It goes into the potatoes!”

“Or we could keep the potatoes potatoes and the steak light and rare, _as the Gods intended_ ,” Brienne finished, her tone indicating that the discussion was over. She shot a look at Jon, then glanced at Jaime. “Oh good. Jaime’s made a friend. I thought it would never happen.”

Jaime laughed. “Like you ever having a healthy relationship?”

Gendry glared at Jaime with murder in his eyes, but Brienne just clapped him on the back. He turned to look up at her. “Go,” she said. “Have fun. Forget our impotent Prince Charming here. All hair and no mind of his own.”

“But what great hair it is,” Jaime interjected. He grinned flirtatiously.

Jon stepped off the stool and guided Gendry to the door before the two of them could get in any more fights.

“Goodbye Snow,” Jaime called. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. In fact, do much, much less than I would do.” As the men walked out the door, he pulled two glasses from beneath the bar and poured a finger of whisky in each. Brienne settled herself on a stool and pulled a small notebook from her back pocket. Jaime strode around the countertop and sat next to her.

“The soup sold well,” she mumbled, flipping through the pages.

“What if we put the steak with a different side. Say, the risotto. And replaced the steak with duck and pomme frites,” Jaime suggested, peering at the pages. Brienne glanced up at him quickly, then back down. She scribbled for a moment, crossing off and writing in.

“Could work,” she said thoughtfully. “But we’d have to change the wines.” Jaime nodded.

As Gendry and Jon crossed to the other side of the street, Jon looked back into the restaurant. In the darkness, Jaime and Brienne huddled together under a single dim light.

 

Arya carried a half pint carefully in each hand back to their table. She didn’t look eighteen, but luckily for her, the bartender didn’t care. She’d been going for years with Robb and Jon, tagging along. When she began fetching the drinks for them, no one raised an eyebrow.

Robb had left earlier that day, after a week at Winterfell. Sansa had voiced her desire to visit Riverrun right after his car pulled out of the driveway. It made Arya nervous.

“Don’t I deserve a night out,” Sansa had said.

“But you _know_ who hangs out there,” Arya argued back.

Sansa put her hands on her hips. “I’m not going to change my life because Joffrey is a giant arsehole.”

“The biggest arsehole,” Arya agreed.

“Riverrun is the only good bar in town,” Sansa continued, “and if I ran my life by trying to avoid King Douchebag, I wouldn’t be able to do anything, ever in this town.”

“Okay,” Arya relented. “But if it starts getting out of hand, we ditch and go get froyo.”

“Deal,” said Sansa, and as she was pulling Arya out the door added, “Gods, froyo? You’re such a girl.”

When they got to Riverrun, Arya did a quick survey of the patrons (and all available exits). No blonde haired sociopaths in sight. She breathed a sigh of relief. Beside her, she heard Sansa exhale as well. She affected a brave front, but she had been just as nervous as Arya. Arya plastered a smile on her face.

“All quiet on the western front,” she whispered. “Five by five.” Sansa chuckled.

The girls found their way to a sheltered booth. Arya positioned them so she’d be able to see anyone who came through the front door, and Sansa would have her back to the door.

She was bringing back their beers (“I’m pretty sure they’d spit in my face if I asked for a vodka cranberry,” she’d explained to Sansa) when she was hit with a blast of cold air.

A group of girls with glitter eyeshadow and sequined tops came in, giggling and whispering behind their hands. “Did they get lost on the way to the strip club,” Arya muttered as she handed Sansa her glass and sat down.

Sansa turned to look. “I don’t know,” she said, examining the girls. “That tube top in green is pretty cute.”

The younger men in the bar had noticed the tube tops too. They all perked up and began to preen themselves.

Arya comforted herself that even in a loose button down and slash, Sansa outshone all of the girls. Her long red hair shined and moved back and forth as she turned and looked at them again. Arya stared down at her own loose, worn-out jeans and the ‘North’ sweatshirt that Robb had given her. Her short hair had grown just past her shoulders and Sansa had done the best she could with eyeliner, but from behind she could easily been mistaken for a boy. She tugged on her hair ruefully.

The door was pushed open again. “Arya,” Sansa said softly. Arya looked up, ready to grab Sansa and bolt. Instead, she saw Jon and Gendry, pulling off their jackets. The sparkly girls noticed as well. One of them strutted over to the ancient jukebox and bent over to select a song, pushing her rear out as she did so. Arya was about to call out to the boys when she saw Gendry eyeing Jukebox Girl. The words froze in her throat. When she didn’t say anything, Sansa turned back and saw the stricken look on Arya’s face. She laid her hand on Arya’s arm and said nothing, for which Arya was eternally grateful. She picked up her beer, took a long drink, and nodded to Sansa.

By this point, Jon had spotted them. The sparkly girls had failed to capture his interest. He waved at his sisters, then realized he had lost Gendry. He punched his friend in the arm. Gendry snapped back to reality, figured out what was happening, and grinned at Arya. She felt her face grow hot, and buried it in her beer.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Sansa smiled up at her half-brother.

Jon patted her on the shoulder. “Night out on the town, ladies?” He slid in next to Sansa, leaving only the space next to Arya for Gendry.

Arya moved over as far as she could so that they wouldn’t touch, but Gendry took up so much room that their elbows still brushed. Jon reached across the table and ruffled Arya’s hair. She shot daggers at him and he laughed. Gendry was once again distracted by the girls glancing in his direction. Arya’s stomach hurt.

“Refills?” Jon asked.

Arya nodded darkly. Sansa looked at her full glass, and then back up at Jon.

“Point taken,” he responded. “Gendry? You coming?” Gendry stood up and followed Jon to the bar.

“I’ve got to catch up,” Sansa said to Arya. “You’re going to be two beers up on me before we’ve been here a half hour.”

“Are you kidding?” Arya replied. “You forget I’ve seen you drink before. It’s like you’ve got a wooden leg, I swear.”

Sansa smiled wickedly and drained her glass in twenty second. Arya began a slow clap and Sansa stood so she could bow. Then she signaled to the men.

“Oh, _Gendry_!” She smiled sweetly as he turned to her and the sparkly girls’ faces became murderous. “Be a dear and fetch me another?”

In response, Gendry bowed. “Of course, milady.” Sansa curtsied and returned to her seat.

“Never doubt a Stark,” she told Arya. “We’re always prepared.”

“The women, at least,” Arya responded, finishing her half pint. The boys carried the drinks back, sloshing a bit. Sansa tutted at them.

“Hey, it’s a lot harder to carry a pint than a half pint,” Jon complained.

“Excuses,” she told him, and took a draught from her glass. Gendry watched Sansa down her beer in a mix of horror and awe. Arya laughed at the look on his face.

“Is that safe?” he whispered to Arya.

“Sansa can outdrink _Robb_ ,” she responded proudly. Sansa wiped the foam from her upper lip.

Gendry leaned in. “How’s your hand-eye coordination,” he asked her. “Because I see great things for us on the beer pong circuit.”

“I’m rubbish at sport,” she replied.

“She really is,” Jon added. “When she runs, she looks like a baby giraffe and she thinks if you put a foot on the other team’s side in football you’re ‘offsides’.” Arya and Jon cracked up.

Gendry waved his hand dismissively. “We’ll work on that.”

Arya glimpsed the group of girls. Their coy smiles had turned to pouts and frowns. Jukebox Girl flipped her hair petulantly and pulled her chair closer to the table.

The door opened again. A redheaded girl tossed her curls and peered around the bar, pulling her fur closer around herself. She wore heavy boots and cargo pants.

Arya called out to her. “Ygritte! Over here!”

Jon froze. “ _WHAT_ ,” he whispered loudly to Arya. “ _What in the gods’ names have you done, devil child? HOW DID YOU EVEN GET HER NUMBER?_ ”

Arya giggled and mimicked Ygritte. “I have my ways, Jon Snow.”

Sansa looked back and forth between them as Jon tried to check his hair in the reflection from his empty glass. “Oh good,” she said. “ _This_ should be fun.”

Gendry winked at Arya and her stomach turned over. “God damn it,” she thought. “I am trying to be mad at you. Don’t fucking smile at me when I want to hate you! It is _extremely_ inconvenient.”

Ygritte got to the table, saw the seating arrangement, and began looking for a chair.

“No need,” cried Sansa. “Jon, get out.” He obeyed dutifully, seeming to have lost all power over his own limbs as well as the power of speech. He opened and closed his mouth and then nodded to Ygritte as Sansa slid out from behind him.

“We need more drinks,” Sansa explained, taking Ygritte by the arm. “Plus this’ll give us gingers a chance to get acquainted.”

“We do have to stick together,” Ygritte agreed.

“Precisely! Now, are your curls all natural or do you use product beca-” was all Arya caught before Sansa dragged Ygritte away.

Jon remembered that one generally requires are to live, and began to gulp like a dying goldfish.

Gendry nudged Arya, who looked up into his eyes. “Looks like someone’s got it pretty bad,” he said. “I thought Jon was immune to that kind of thing! We’re in for quite a night.”

“You have _no_ idea,” Arya thought.

Sansa held a tray of small drinks and Ygritte dragged a chair as they walked back to the table, chatting as though they’d known each other for years.

“Look what I found,” she sang. “They found a bottle of tequila behind the bar when we asked them nicely.”

She set the drinks down and grabbed a seat on the chair, leaving the space next to Jon for Ygritte. The woman took the hint and slid in smoothly.

Ygritte grinned at the suddenly tense Jon. “Jon Snow," Ygritte said. “Aren’t you happy to see me?” Jon mumbled something about ‘pleasure’, which only made her smile more.

“I _like_ her,” Sansa told Jon as she passed out the glasses. She raised her glass and waited for everyone else to do the same. “To redheaded girls, cold winter nights, and the best sister a girl could have.” She leaned in. “May this be a night to remember!”

They all drank.

 

Hours later, Jon had loosened up. In fact, he had loosened up so much that he left on Ygritte’s arm.

“Bey goood,” he slurred to Arya, as his sisters giggled.

“Take care of him,” Arya instructed Ygritte. “Make sure he drinks lots of water.”

“He’s like a huge five-year-old,” she laughed, carrying him outside. “You guys need a ride?”

“Nah, we’ll call a cab,” Sansa said. “Have fuuun!”

Arya looked for Gendry, to see if he wanted to ride with them. She found him on a barstool, with Jukebox Girl on his lap.

“It looks like she’s eating his face.” Sansa came up behind her. “Come on, let’s go. I need my beauty sleep.”

Arya nodded and turned away from Gendry. She didn’t need to make herself feel worse than she already did. Besides, she’d just imagine the two of them together in bed that night, tossing and turning.

When they got home and were pulling off their shoes, Sansa put a hand on Arya’s shoulder.

“Listen,” she whispered, “I want to thank you for coming out with me tonight. I know this isn’t always your kind of thing, and I really appreciate you making an effort.”

Arya pulled her sister into a hug, tears welling in her eyes. “Of course,” she said. “You know I’m always here for you when you need me.”

They stood in silence for a moment, before Sansa whispered, “He’s a prick.”

Arya let out a peal of laughter before clapping her hand over her mouth.

“Night, Sansa.”

“Sweet dreams, Arya.”

 

“Arya?”

Arya pulled clothes out of her closet, holding her cell between her head and her shoulder. “Hey. What’s up?”

There was a moment of silence before Jon cleared his throat. “Uh, how bad was I last night?”

“Why, whatever do you mean,” Arya said sweetly, putting her jeans on. “Oh, you mean you going home with Ygritte?”

Jon groaned. “I still can’t believe you called her.”

“Get over it, loser.” Arya put the phone down and slipped her head through her Marina and the Diamonds shirt before picking it back up. “Besides, you didn’t seem mad last night.”

“Did I say anything though?” Jon asked.

“Did you ask her to marry you? No, Jon. What could you have said that would have been so bad anyway?”

“I just don’t want to lead her on, that’s all,” Jon answered.

“Um, I’m pretty sure if you’re into her, that wouldn’t be leading her on. It would be what we in the real world call an _adult consensual relationship_ ,” Arya said. “Do you want me to repeat that so you can write it down?”

“I can’t date her, I told you!” Jon sounded frustrated.

Arya laced up her shoes. “Did she take advantage of you or something?”

“No,” Jon muttered. “From what I can remember, she just put me on her pullout. And she made me breakfast this morning.”

“What a monster,” Arya said dryly. “I can see why you are so against anything happening here.”

Jon groaned. “Well, Gendry had it worse.” Arya froze. “He didn’t sober up until he realized that the girl who had offered him a ride home had driven him to her apartment. He had to crash in her bed and she kept trying to make a move on him.”

“But he didn’t go for it?” Arya asked, keeping her voice light.

“No, he didn’t have any rubbers on him and he didn’t trust the girl to be safe.” The weight on Arya’s shoulders lifted.

“Listen, Jon, I’ve got to go. Bran’s got a doctor’s appointment. But honestly, I really think you should give Ygritte a call. Maybe meet her for a coffee. You like this girl.”

“I’ll... I’ll think about it.”

“Deal,” Arya said, and pressed ‘end call’.

 

Jon slammed the door of the Bull and fiddled with the dials, twisting them back and forth. He didn’t say anything to Gendry on the way to the diner.

Once they sat down, Gendry turned to Jon. “Mate, what is up your butt?” he asked.

Jon sighed. “Sorry, man. I’m just pissed because Catelyn doesn’t want me to sit at the family table and Sansa doesn’t want to make a fuss, so...”

“It’s do what the lady of the house says, huh? That’s fucked up, man.”

Jon looked down, fiddling with his napkin, and back up. “She hates me, I get it. Not like she ever misses out on a chance to remind me.”

“Is that why you don’t live in the house?”

“She kicked me out as soon as Ned was cold in the ground. Robb has always been good to me though. He made sure I got what my father left me in the will--it was enough to get me a place to live and take care of what I needed.” Jon ran his hand through his hair. “It was just a lot, you know? My father dies, and I immediately have to leave the only home I’ve ever known and figure out what I’m going to do for the rest of my life.”

“Yeah,” Gendry agreed quietly.

Jon remembered who he was talking to and pulled himself upright. “Anyway, we know enough about that, don’t we.” He punched Gendry in the arm. “No use crying over our lives. Hey. I've got an idea. Would you come with me?”

“To what? Sansa’s thing?” Gendry’s face displayed his hesitation.

“Please,” Jon pleaded. “I know it’s not your thing but I would owe you big time. I can’t face another one of these things alone with everyone shooting me dirty looks and talking behind their hands. Arya’s good, but it’s not the same for her.” He folded his hands together and held them up to Gendry. “Pleaseee?”

Gendry relented. “You’re renting me a tux,” he said.

“Yesss,” Jon cheered. “I got you, man. Don’t worry. I’ll make this as painless as possible.”

 

“Arya, can you grab me that pin from the vanity?”

“I would, but I have no idea what a vanity is,” Arya replied.

“It’s that table. With the mirror?”

“Ugh. Of course that’s called a vanity table. What else would it be.” Arya handed Sansa the pin, and stood back to watch. “I still can’t believe you made your own dress.”

“Why waste the money?”

“...Sansa, we’re renting out a huge ballroom, just for you.”

“Well, I can make my own dress. I can’t exactly fit a couple hundred people in our house. Plus I knew exactly what I wanted my dress to look like. That’s not the kind of thing you can entrust to someone else.”

“I gotta admit, you are going to look fucking amazing. You really have a talent for this stuff.”

“I’m so glad you think so,” Sansa said casually, “Because I was having a bit of ‘sewing-block’ last week, and I had some extra of that black stretchy fabric from my maxi dress.” She pulled a mannequin from her closet, pushing boxes and stacks aside.

On the mannequin was a short black dress. It clung tightly at the bust and rear, but cutouts around the neckline made it light and playful. On Sansa, it’d be scandalous, but on Arya... Sansa circled her sister anxiously. “I know you don’t like deep-necked dresses, so I stayed away from that kind of style, but I used cutouts to make it pop. It’s a little short, I know, but it’ll make your legs look longer. Especially if we go shopping for the right shoes and I’ve already got a pair in mind. It’s definitely uniq-”

“Sansa. Shut up.”

Sansa pursed her lips and looked down. “If you don’t like it, that’s fine, I can just sell it on Etsy. It’s not a big deal or whatever.”

“It’s beautiful,” Arya finally admitted. “It’s absolutely perfect.”

Sansa squealed. “ _REALLY_?! Ugh, I knew it! You’re going to look so damn good in this. I know that there’s going to be at least one guy who won’t be looking anywhere near me. Even though my dress _is_ spectacular.”

Arya busied herself with her hem. “Who?” she asked, nonchalantly.

“Gendry,” Sansa smiled, “of course.”

“We’re just friends,” Arya protested nonchalantly.

“Yeah, and I’m a Priestess of the Light,” Sana retorted.

Arya sighed and turned to her sister. “He doesn’t see me in that way,” she explained, dropping the pretense. “I’m just ‘ _Jon’s little sister_ ’ and that’s all I’ll ever be to Gendry.”

“Not after he sees you in that dress, baby girl,” Sansa replied. “Now put it on, you need to have a fitting. Even I can’t perfectly eyeball all of your measurements. You’ve got to look like this dress is your second skin.”

“You’re evil,” Arya said, slipping the dress over her head.

“Never underestimate the power of a good outfit,” Sansa instructed, shaking her finger.

 

Jon checked himself out in the mirror one last time. He straightened his tie, and pulled his shirt down. “Gendry,” he called. A growl came from the bathroom. Jon turned as Gendry emerged, shirt unbuttoned and untucked, tie hanging around his neck.

“No wonder I’ve never worn a suit,” Gendry moaned. “I can’t put on the damn thing.”

“Oh, is that why,” Jon laughed. “Come here.”

Gendry buttoned the white dress shirt up and tucked it into the gray pants. Jon flipped down his collar as Gendry fidgeted. He eyed the tie, adjusting the length, and crossed one side over the other.

“Remind me again why I promised to do this,” Gendry muttered, scratching the back of one leg with his stocking feet.

“Good friend, Sansa’s big day, etc.” Jon finished up the windsor knot and began rummaging in his suit bag.

“Ehhh. How much do I even really like you anyway.”

“You're an arse,” Jon replied.

“Well, with that kind of language, I’m definitely not going.”

Jon stood, white handkerchiefs in hand. “What the bloody hell are those,” Gendry said, edging backwards.

“Pocket squares,” Jon announced.

Gendry put his face in his hands with a groan. “Have I told you lately that I hate you?”

“All the time,” Jon replied, folding the squares. “Now come here and put your jacket on because if I put it in before you’re wearing it’ll just get wrinkled.”

Gendry picked up the grey jacket and slipped his arms through it. The jacket was just tight enough to show off his arms but let him move freely. He walked to the mirror and buttoned the top button.

“I do look damn good,” he admitted, turning back and forth to admire himself.

“Ok, ok, wait to show off until we actually get to the party.”

Gendry opened the door to the hallway. “Well then,” he grinned. “What are we waiting for?”

 

Sansa swept into the room, her dress swaying with her. One side of her long red hair had been swept up into a twist going down to the nape of her neck. She’d picked the men’s ties to match the color of her dress, a lovely, dark and deep blue. The lace scallops along her neckline continued below the tops of her shoulders. Sansa had spent hours sewing the tiny blue beads into the fabric, until her fingers were raw, and as the soft light struck them, she shimmered gently. Catelyn, dressed in a flowing gown of silver silk, and the boys, in their child-sized suits, followed her into the room.

“Of course Catelyn had to have a train longer than Sansa,” Jon whispered to Gendry.

Gendry had actually thought the Stark matriarch looked subdued in comparison to Sansa’s glory, but he nodded in response.

Sansa raised her hand and all chatter in the room fell silent. She smiled benevolently at the room, like a queen generously acknowledging her subjects. Gendry fought the urge to laugh.

“Welcome to you all,” Sansa said graciously. “We are so happy you’ve come.” Gendry heard Jon snort beside him. In the back of the large room, Arya stood by the door, unnoticed.

Sansa folded her hands delicately in front of her. “My family has been so supportive to me. Both throughout this ordeal,” the crowd chuckled appreciatively, “and for the years leading up to it.” Catelyn beamed, wiping away the tears that had begun to form. “I’m graduating from college,” Sansa continued, “I’m turning 21, and I am becoming a lady in the eyes of society.” She paused. “But other people cannot tell me who I am. That is a journey and a realization I had to do by myself.” She pursed her lips. “It started when my father passed away.” Arya flinched. “I would be lying if I said I did not wish he was here with us today.” She looked back at her family. “We all do. But if any good has come from the tragedy, it has been to make us realize how important family really is. And that we are here for a reason: to make better the lives of the people around us. I may not know what I want to do for the rest of my life, but my father showed me at least that much. We have to help others, or we have no purpose. But at least for tonight, I want everyone here to fall in love, if only for a moment. To cherish the time we have together. And to get a piece of the delicious, delicious cake.” The people laughed.

Sansa picked up a glass. “To the summer and the winter!” “The summer and the winter,” the ballroom repeated. “May we always be prepared for what life gives us,” she said, taking a sip.

At a signal, the band began to play a lively song. People from the table stood, grabbing their partners, and finding their way to the floor.

All the little lights Sansa had spent hours assembling surrounded the dance floor, inserting the battery powered flames in cloudy glass, to make them flicker. She wasn’t allowed real candles, but Arya suggested the batteries. Everything had to be perfect. The hotel manager had still complained, but Catelyn convinced him that they would keep multiple fire extinguishers behind the bartending station.

Jon sidled up to Sansa. “Where’s Arya?”

“She’s scolding the caterers,” Sansa replied, stuffing another hors d'oeuvre into her mouth. “Gods, have you tried these crab cakes? They’re amazing.”

Jon stared at his sister. She looked up and flipped him off. “Oh _fuck off_ , I haven’t eaten all day.”

“Why is she scolding the caterer,” he persisted.

“They messed up the fish course, I think.” Sansa swallowed. “She just wants everything to be perfect. Honestly, I’m done worrying about the logistics. I’ve got to handle the diplomacy now, and that’s the hard part. Go get her, would you? I want her here.”

Jon grabbed Gendry and headed to the kitchen. But Arya was finding her way through the crowd, to her sister. She touched Sansa gently and when her sister turned, she kissed her on the cheek. “Happy birthday, dear.”

“Dear,” Sansa laughed, “what am I, eighty?” She stepped back to take a look at Arya. “Damn, girl. I knew that dress would be good. I didn’t expect it to be that good.”

“Yes you did,” Arya reminded her.

“Oh yes, I did.” Sansa grinned. “I _am_ the best.”

“Shut up,” Arya said, “and dance with me.”

“Hold on,” Sansa replied, and went to talk to the DJ. He nodded and began to play.

When Arya heard ‘ _Bad Reputation_ ’ come over the speakers, she laughed so hard she almost cried.

“Dance,” Sansa commanded. “We’re getting rowdy tonight!”

So when Jon and Gendry finally realized that Arya had gone back to the ballroom, the girls were breathing heavily. Arya dropped to the floor and then came back up and Sansa clapped, delighted. She was sweating, and blushing, and beautiful when the men entered the ballroom, arms raised above her head and hair freed from its tight bun.

Gendry spotted her instantly, even from across the room. It's hard to be speechless in your mind, but that's exactly what he was.

Then he remembered he was standing in the middle of a doorway. And that his mouth was open. And that he was looking at _Arya_. Even then, it took awhile for his brain to adjust.

"But - I - no - ah - wha. Huh." Gendry tried to process what was happening. "It's the dress," he told himself. "Some kind of magical dress. It would look like that on anyone. Black and with the holes and hugging her curves in all the right pla... _Shit_."

Jon chose that moment to slap him on the back. Gendry almost choked on his own tongue.

"Thanks for coming along, man," Jon said, "I know you'd rather be anywhere else."

Gendry forced a grin while Jon continued. "You're saving my life. These things are excruciatingly boring. Not that I don't love Sansa, it's just... not my kind of thing."

"You're telling me," Gendry replied, trying desperately to draw his eyes away from the dance floor. “Anyone else,” he thought. “Look at literally anyone else.”

Jon glanced over at his sisters and gave Arya a wave. In return she made a duck face, pushing out her lips, and threw up a sideways peace sign. Sansa saw him and let her limbs jerk about as though she was a puppet. Arya cracked up.

“Hey,” Jon said suddenly and indignantly. “She’s doing an imitation of me!”

Gendry looked at Jon and then back to the floor, eager to talk about something else. “Mate, she’s got your dancing down pat. I saw you at the concert. All you should be doing is the white man’s shuffle.”

“Bullshit,” Jon replied. “We’re going out there to show them how it’s done.”

“Well, _that’s_ not a good idea,” Gendry said.

Jon ignored him. “Hurry up, I can’t bust a move alone.” Gendry groaned and followed his friend.

They stopped in front of Sansa, who smiled sweetly at them. “Is there a problem, gentlemen?” Arya giggled. Gendry made sure to keep his eyes straight ahead.

“Dance off,” Jon said. “Right here, right now.”

“That is a battle you are going to lose, my brother,” Sansa responded. “But I will give you the opportunity on this, the day of my daughter’s wedding.”

Jon snorted.

“I will get a handicap though,” she continued, “because dancing in this dress is like moving in a tent.”

“In that case, I should get one too because this suit is so tight. I can’t even do the worm!”

Sansa put her hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow. “Thank the gods you can’t do the worm because that is an automatic disqualification.”

They started to haggle over the rules and regulations.

Arya leaned over to Gendry. “It won’t happen, you know.” He stiffened at the sound of her voice. “They’ll get so caught up in the details they’ll never actually do it.” She turned away from the discussion and cocked her head, trying to get the beat down. Gendry watched her fall back into the music. She ran her hands through her hair and rested her arms on her head, jumping up and down. Gendry grinned.

The music changed, slowing in beat and tempo.

Arya looked around for a partner. Her eyes met Gendry’s and she smiled, reaching out for him. He was helpless to resist. She pulled him in, so that her head was resting on his chest.

“It’s fine,” he told himself. “You’ve been this close to her before. You were fine before. Goddamn it. Pull yourself together.” She let out a little sigh and he felt her chest rise and fall. “Fuck it,” he thought, and rested his chin on her head. But when the dance ended, he left as though nothing had happened. As though his world wasn't falling apart.

 

Arya turned 18 once with her family, and a seven layer cake that Sansa made. She turned 18 again in a diner, with Jon and Gendry singing at the top of their lungs. She loved them both equally. But Gendry said nothing.

 

Arya grabbed a tie from her bag and pulled her thin hair back into a short ponytail. She hadn’t had to worry about hair in her face before. She liked the change, though.

She slipped off her thongs and padded silently onto the floor. Her teacher sat in the circle, cross-legged with eyes shut. Arya sat a half meter away, and arranged herself in a position she could hold for hours if needed. She felt for every part of her body, tensed it, then relaxed. She closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply.

They sat in silence for five minutes as Arya emptied all thoughts from her mind. In. Out. In. Out. She envisioned her breath as currents of red and blue, filling her lungs and making her powerful. When she had started training, this process had taken her a half hour. Once her teacher was satisfied that she was ready, he threw a punch at her face. She felt the air change and blocked the blow with an open palm, eyes still closed. If he had wanted to, the teacher could have pushed past the hand and broken her teeth. She knew this.

When her father was alive, he had taken her to let out her anger at the Centre. “You are not allowed to scream and cry at home or at school,” Ned had told her. “You must use that passion and energy to protect yourself.” He had given her to Syrio, her first teacher, and told the family that he had enrolled Arya in ballet lessons.

“You do look more graceful,” Sansa had remarked after observing Arya. “More comfortable in your own skin.”

Syrio had taught her the basics. If she was attacked, she would never be able to overpower an opponent. So he showed her the most sensitive areas on a man’s body and how to slip out of a chokehold and what knives wouldn’t be noticed under a jacket.

Once Ned was murdered, Arya needed to learn more. She woke each night in a panic, having sweat through her sheets. She’d lay a towel over the area and lie awake till morning. So Syrio sent her to the teacher. He never gave her his name and she never asked. For two hours, twice a week, Arya became a shadow.

She loved it. It made her feel strong and powerful and beautiful. She wasn’t Arya Underfoot or the Weasel, as Sansa used to call her when she was particularly annoying. She was not even Arya of the Stark family. She was invisible and important at the same time. Her power was deadly.

They sparred for an hour and a half with hands and sticks and wooden swords. Arya would be dripping with sweat, breathing heavily, when the teacher would suddenly stop and close his eyes. They would stand motionless and lower their heart rates down to baseline within one minute of the stopping point and then begin again. “You are ice,” her teacher instructed her. “You are the stone beneath the raging river.” After Arya had been thoroughly bruised and beaten for the day, the teacher would leave her to do her exercises.

She stretched until she thought her tendons would snap, until her legs burned fiercely, until she began to tear up. Then she lifted a leg above her head, set it down, and picked up one of the wooden staffs. In the silent room, she went through the positions and stances, naming each in her head.

 

Jon was usually the one who picked Arya up. He knew not to show until fifteen minutes past when she said she’d be ready. Sometimes, when she got lost in the moves and intricacies of the fight, it could be thirty minutes before she drew herself out of it and walked down the front steps. He usually brought a book.

But Jon had been given mandatory practice at the shooting range that afternoon and forgot to tell Arya until she was already in the middle of training. It was pointless to call then--she’d never look at her phone. “Please,” he had pleaded on his call to Gendry. “She needs someone to pick her up. She’ll kill me if I just leave her there. I’m pretty sure she can actually do that, too.” Gendry hemmed and hawed and made up an excuse about Brienne wanting to go over the menu. “She’ll let you off,” Jon argued. “She’s tough but she’s not cruel.” Gendry had finally agreed. If there was one thing he couldn’t do, it was leave Arya hanging. He’d been let down too many times to ever do that to someone else. He wanted her to be able to trust him. To rely on him.

Gendry arrived ten minutes early. He sat in the parking lot for five, nervously tapping the Bull’s wheel with his fingertips, and dialing the radio knob back and forth between stations. Then he went inside and sat in one of the chairs next to the front desk. He picked up a magazine and tried to read it, but couldn’t focus. After ten minutes of flipping through pages had passed, he approached the man behind the desk.

Gendry hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Arya Stark?” The man pointed him towards a door in the back. Gendry thanked him.

The door creaked quietly as Gendry entered. He grimaced at the sound and quickly closed the door behind him. Arya didn’t notice.

She whirled the staff around her head, back to her side, and up to ready position. Left forward, right back. She adjusted her feet and struck her imaginary opponent.

Gendry slid to the ground and sat against the wall, watching the dance. Arya dodged a blow to her stomach, then ducked quickly. She parried strikes with her staff, dropped and rolled through where she imagined her attacker had his legs, sprung up, and laid a decisive blow to the invisible temple. She let her hands fall to her side. Breathing heavily, she wiped the sweat from her brow, and turned to place her staff in the corner. That’s when she saw Gendry.

He stood before she could say anything. “Jon had something that came up,” he explained hurriedly. She nodded, still trying to catch her breath. “I’ll be in the car,” he said. “Come out when you’re ready.” He turned and quickly left the room. Arya stood on the mat alone, admiring the silence. She wiped her face on her tank top and grabbed her bag from the side of the room.

When Gendry saw Arya coming out the front door and down the steps, he started the car. She’d taken a shower so her damp hair fell limply on her shoulders, and changed from the leggings and tank top to loose shorts and a pullover. Gendry’s eyes went from her colt-like legs, to her hair, to her tapered fingers, wrapped around her bag strap.

“Pull yourself together,” he scolded himself. “Good gods, man, what are you, a teenager?” In response, his mind showed him Arya kicking her invisible attacker, flying through the air, and his cock went hard in his jeans. He hit his head against the steering wheel and groaned.

“How you doing over there,” Arya asked, throwing her bag in the back seat. “Everything copacetic?”

He raised an eyebrow and looked at her.

“Copacetic,” she recited obediently. “Adjective. Meaning ‘in perfect order’.”

“Oh. Yes,” he said gruffly, shifting into reverse. They pulled out of the parking lot in silence. Gendry adjusted his seat.

“So you’re pretty amazing,” he started. She looked at him, startled. “The way you were moving in there...” he trailed off.

She smiled at him. “I love it,” she replied. “Feels like home now.”

Gendry looked down at Arya, almost involuntarily. She fiddled with the zipper on her pully. Her lashes look even longer when she’s looking down, Gendry thought. She moved her head just then.

“You know the light’s green.” Gendry jumped in his seat and hurriedly shifted into gear.

After driving in silence for a while, he cleared his throat. “I get that, he said slowly. “I mean, I’ve never really had it, but I get you wanting to find it.”

“You’ve never had what?” Arya asked. “The feeling?”

“No, I mean...” He searched for the right words. “Living in my house, with my mom--that was never a home. I never felt _at home_ there. It was always just a little bit... off.”

They pulled up in front of the Stark house. Arya opened the door and Gendry handed her the water bottle that had rolled onto the floor, beneath his legs. He let his fingers graze her arm as he pulled back. That’s all he allowed himself. That’s all he thought he could bear.

Arya closed her door, hesitated, and leaned down to look through the open window.

“I think that you have a home. Out there. Waiting for you.”

Gendry struggled with his face for a moment. Smile, you wanker, he told himself. As he watched, Arya turned and walked up the path to Winterfell. He didn’t see her wrap her hand around the place where he’d touched her arm. He was focused on something else--biting his cheek to keep from shouting to Arya the reply echoing in his head. Just two words.

“ _With you_.”

 

Something kept bugging her. In the corner of her mind, it picked at her again and again, causing her to toss back and forth, flip her pillow to the cool side over and over again. “THINK,” it whined. “Arya, THINK. See what others see. What are you missing?” Finally, she realized what it was. Gendry had been looking at her the way men looked at Sansa.

 

Sansa set the tea cups on the table delicately. “Jon only had Earl Grey,” she noted. “I hope that’s okay.” Gendry nodded his thanks and proceeded to burn his tongue on the first sip. She sat across from him and poured milk from a tiny jug into her own cup,

“So,” he said. “You wanted to talk.”

Sansa smiled. “Did you have a good time at Arya’s birthday? I know you and Jon had your own little celebration with her.”

Gendry took another sip of his tea instead of answering. “I think maybe you did not,” Sansa continued. “That it was hard for you.” Gendry stood abruptly and crossed to the other side of the room.

“I think maybe you have something you want to tell her. You look at her like you do.”

“I-I just,” Gendry started and stopped. “I don’t exactly need her. I just want to be near her. All the time. Make her smile. Comfort her when she’s crying. And I want to protect her and keep her from ever being hurt even though I know she’d punch me for even thinking that. I want to tell her what I did at the end of every day and go turn down the thermostat when she gets too hot in the middle of the night.”

Sansa set her teacup down with a rattle and paused, considering his words. “You’re completely hopeless,” she said, finally. “You’re done for.”

“FUCK IT,” Gendry yelled and dove head first into the sofa. “I can’t,” he said, muffled. “I can’t do anything for her, I can’t give her anything.”

“If you think Arya wants people to give her things, then you’re dumber than I thought,” Sansa told him. She sipped her tea deliberately. “She’d rather fight for everything she gets.”

Gendry looked up. “But how can I go to her with nothing?”

“Better than not going at all, you arse,” Sansa remarked.

“True.”

“And soon,” Sansa added. “You should do it soon.”

Gendry sat up suddenly. “Why? What do you know?”

Sansa shrugged. “Talk to Arya.” She stood and opened the fridge, pulling out a large platter. “But first, pudding.”

 

_where r u_

_arya_

_anser!!_

_At the park._

_y_

_Trying to think._

_im cumin_

_You’re cumin? What a delicious spice._

_GENDRY DO NOT COME HERE._

As Gendry walked up to Arya, sitting on a bench in the park, she began to speak. “So, when I said, ‘Don’t come here’, did you read that and think ‘Arya would love to see me right now’ or ‘fuck Arya’s opinion’? Either way, a fascinating insight into your personality.”

He ignored her tirade. “Listen, can we talk?”

“I’ve got a lot going on right now, Gendry. I came to the park to think. I’ve sort of got to make a decision that affects the rest of my life.”

“Why?” Gendry asked.

She threw up her hands. “Because that’s the way it is! Mum wants me to go to college. I haven’t the grades for it, but that’s never stopped the Starks before. She’ll just donate a wing or something. Robb’s offered me a job but then I’d be working at North. Don’t want to get my job just because of him.”

Gendry sat next to her on the bench and looked at her sideways. “You didn’t think of talking to me?”

At this, Arya stood, furious in an instant. “Jesus, Gendry, not every fucking thing is about you!”

He followed her as she stalked off. “Yeah, but this one is,” he called after her.

She spun on her heel to glare up at him. “What _the fuck_ is your deal? Why can’t you leave me alone for once?”

“Because I can't leave you alone without telling you,” he spit out and then froze.

“Telling me,” Arya said suspiciously. “Telling me what?”

“This isn’t exactly how I anticipated this going,” Gendry admitted. “I thought I’d cook you a nice supper, maybe steal a bottle of wine from the restaurant.”

Arya narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms.

“Okay, well, um. I would like to take you out.” He pulled on his collar, then added, “On a date.” Arya didn’t budge. “Because... I think I’m in love with you,” he admitted. He paced back and forth, looking at his feet. “I don’t know why I said ‘I think’. I’ve been over it again and again, and I’ve tried to ignore it, but I love you, Arya Stark.”

Arya let her crossed arms fall to her sides.

“That's a shitty joke,” she said harshly, a scowl on her face.

Gendry turned, shocked. “What? No!”

She glared at him, eyes blazing. “Jon put you up to this,” she stated flatly. “You can tell him it’s not funny. Just go.”

Gendry grabbed Arya’s shoulders with both hands. She stared defiantly back at him, forehead creased.

“Look at me,” he yelled, searching her face. “Have I ever deliberately hurt you? Have I ever lied to you? Even a little bit?”

Arya’s expression went from angry to hurt to confused. She shook her head.

Gendry released her, putting his face in his hands. He bent down, picked up a pinecone, and threw it at a tree trunk. Arya watched as it exploded on impact.

“Why,” she finally asked. “Why me? Why now?”

Gendry looked down and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I mean, you could have anyone,” Arya continued. “I’ve seen you with women before. I’m younger and plainer than all of them. I’m not a woman in any sense of the word. So why?”

“Because you might be leaving! You’re moving on with your life, which could mean moving away,” Gendry said harshly. “I can’t let you do that.”

Arya tensed. “ _Let me_?” She stuck her finger in Gendry’s face. “Let’s make this perfectly clear. I will do what I decide. You can say whatever you want, but it is _my_ decision and nobody else’s. And if you think that you can control me-”

“That’s not what I meant,” he interrupted. “You needed to know! I needed you to know! Because I thought, I think, that you might change your mind. You might want to, I don’t know, _be with me_.”

“Well, great!” Arya yelled. “You think that since you’ve finally decided that I’m not just a girl in boy’s clothing, I’m worth saving. That you’ll deign to give me your attention for once and I’ll change my whole life for you. I’m not just sitting around here pining over you, you asshole! I have a life, for gods’ sake. Whatever I do now will change the rest of my life! Do you fucking understand that at all?!”

“Good,” Gendry said. “Get mad at me, burn it off.”

“FUCK YOU!” Arya screamed. “I’M NOT JUST GETTING MAD OVER NOTHING. THIS ISN’T ME TRYING TO GET ATTENTION OR THROWING A TEMPER TANTRUM. THIS IS MY LIFE, GENDRY!” She grabbed her head with both hands, digging her nails into her scalp.

Gendry reached out and then snatched his hand back. “I’ve already been here for a year, Arya, that’s longer than I’ve been any place except where I was born! At first I thought it was just because of Jon, and the job and everything. But I realized I’ve been waiting for something more. I’ve been waiting for you. And now that I’ve found you, I don’t want to wait anymore. I want to show you off and show you the world. I want to impress you and care for you and really just watch you show idiots like me what you’re made of, because you are one of the toughest and strongest people I have ever met.” He stepped towards her and cupped her cheek in his hand. She closed her eyes.

“Do you know what you want?” Gendry asked. Arya’s eyes opened. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips tight. “Because I think you know yourself, Arya, better than other people understand. You’ve got a lot of people telling you what they think you should do, but you have your own voice. You know yourself and what you want for yourself. And if I’m right, that makes you more of a woman, more of an adult, than most people.” He stepped closer. Arya had to crane her neck to keep looking into his eyes. He could feel her breath through his shirt, and his own heartbeat sped up. “I’m not one of the voices telling you what to do. It took me 27 years to figure out what I wanted. I can’t just stand by and watch it leave. I’ll be here when you decide, whatever you decide. What I’m saying is that I want to follow you when you go.”

Arya’s eyes grew wet. She reached up to the nape of Gendry’s neck and ran her thumb back and forth against the sensitive skin. He closed his eyes and pushed his neck back against her touch.

“I-It's hard to believe you're for real. That this is really happening,” Arya choked out.

Gendry’s eyes opened. “I take that to mean you like me back?” Arya laughed. He reached down to wipe tears from her cheeks. “You damn fool,” she cried. “I loved you before you even knew I was a girl.”

Gendry grinned. “Not my finest hour, I’ll give you that.”

“As I recall, you were also covered in blood.” Arya smiled. “I loved you anyway.”

Gendry picked Arya up by the waist and swung her around until she punched him in the arm. He set her down, rubbing his arm and wincing dramatically as she laughed.

“I’m sorry I ever doubted you, milady.”

Arya’s smile faded. She slipped her hand into his, linking their fingers together. “If this is going to work,” she said slowly, “you can’t think of me like that. Even as a joke. I’m not more than you because of my family or where I come from. We have to be partners.”

Gendry squeezed her hand. “We will. I promise you that. Every decision we make, we’ll make together.”

Arya smiled and reached up, running her fingers through his hair, and bent his head down so she could whisper in his ear. “Promise?”

He pulled his head back so he could press his lips against hers and placed both hands on her back. Arya wrapped her arms around him, pulling herself closer, and opened his lips with her tongue. One of his hands moved up into her hair, the other traveled down to the bottom of her back. She moaned against his touch, sending shivers up and down his spine. Finally, they came up for air.

Gendry gazed at Arya, awestruck. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, eyes dancing merrily.

“God, I can’t believe it took me that long to do that,” he breathed, and pulled her back into his arms.

 

Sansa found the note on her vanity table. On the envelope, Arya had scrawled ‘For my favorite sister’ in her childish block lettering.

_Dear Sansa,_

_I feel a bit silly writing you a letter like this. I’ve still got email, and I’m keeping my cell, so you can contact me whenever--I just thought you’d appreciate the elegance of a handwritten letter. It’s your style._

_I’ve never fit into the ‘woman of the Stark family’ mold like you. When I realized what my options would be here... Let’s say I knew I had to find something else. This life was never for me. You know that better than anyone. I’m not going to go to college or to work just because it’s in front of me. It would have to be something I can fight for, something I could be passionate about._

_I may not have that yet in a job or a cause, but I have someone. And I know that we will fight for each other. We’ll probably fight each other a lot as well, but what’s a relationship without a little drama? (this goes for you and me too)_

_The other letters on the table are for Mom, Bran and Rickon, and Robb. Jon already knows. Gendry says that when he told him about me, he wasn’t sure if Jon was going to punch him or hug him. They landed on hug. Please sit with Mom as she reads hers. Keep her from throwing things through windows. Or trying to find me, as she will want. I need this._

_I’m not sure when we’ll be back. I’m not sure where we’re going, either. Gendry says that’s part of the fun. I think he just has an aversion to maps. But if you, or anyone needs me, just call and we’ll come._

_I love you, Sansa. You’ve been such an inspiration to me. Thanks for everything._

_A_

 

Arya pushed her way through the mess of people. Gendry knew people everywhere, she’d found, and had connections even further than that.

She saw him then, standing on the balcony outside. Arya began to play the game with herself, one that she’d started long ago: remembering the color of his eyes before she could see them.

His eyes were blue-grey, like the sky before the fog had burned off. No, but they were harder than that, she thought. Steely metal, a harsh icy sword of color. She just had hazel eyes. Jon at least had dark brown ones and all the girls swooned over his long eyelashes. Before, when she couldn’t look at Gendry for too long without arousing suspicion, when she could only glimpse at him, she’d noticed that from the side, his eyes looked almost green.

Gendry stared out at the glassy waters, leaning against the railing surrounding the porch as the temperature began to lower. It was cold enough that everyone else had gone back inside.

Arya slammed the door behind her, carrying one of his jackets and wearing the other. “Here you go, you idiot.”

He put it on and kissed her on the forehead. “Thanks, love. Better not slam that door though. It’ll shatter,” he told her. She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “Or I could shut up and drink my beer,” he mumbled, smiling.

“Good choice,” she agreed.

He handed her a clear cup filled with beer. She held it out back to him and they tapped their drinks together as the sun set over the water.

“Are you trying to get me drunk,” she teased.

“Gods no,” he chuckled. “That’d take all night.”

Suddenly, he slipped his hand around her waist and whirled her around so that he was pressing her against the wooden railing. “What I’ve got planned better happen much sooner than that.”

“Good plan,” she smiled back. She pulled his keys out of his jeans pocket and held them up in front of him. “Ready to hit the road?”


End file.
